


A Study in Skin

by BleuBombshell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, F/F, M/M, Out of Character, Stripper, Strippers & Strip Clubs, dancer!lock, exotic dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:53:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleuBombshell/pseuds/BleuBombshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John begins hanging with old friends, and new friends and meets a tantalizing dancer along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This came about from me and my friend discussing Sherlock twerking, and I said 'you know what, I'm gonna write a thing' it's not really twerking per say, but none the less...
> 
> This is un-beta'd and un-britpicked so please be patient with my idiocy.

Finishing up for the day, filing the last of his patients papers, John Watson bid Mary, his secretary, goodbye until he'd see her again on Monday. He was a doctor who ran a small private practice which one could only get an appointment to via referral. Heading out across the parking lot of the ritzy outdoor mall where his practice was located, he heard someone call his name.

“John? John Watson, is that you?”

Turning around to face the voice, immediately recognizing his silver-haired friend from Barts, who he'd not seen in quite a few years.

“Greg- Greg Lestrade? How nice to see you!" a genuine smile graced the short blonde's face. "What’s it been, four years?”

The other man laughed with enthusiasm lighting up his eyes upon seeing his old friend. “It’s been too long, I can tell you that. Still running that surgery up here?” Before John could formulate an answer, he glanced down at his expensive watch. “Listen, I have a meeting at the Yard in 15 so I'm in a bit of a rush. Why don’t we go out for drinks later? A few of my mates and I were planning to visit La Bomba as a sort-of celebration for me getting back in town. Care to join us?”

John wrinkled his brow. "isn't that the new strip club uptown?" A bit perplexed, but genuinely interested, he hadn’t been to such a place in a years. Last time he went in fact was with the bloke in front of him.

“Quite a nice place really, pretty ritzy so wear your best evening wear.” Of course, why was John thinking that the place would be anything less than upper class? Lestrade loved fancy things and fancy people. Realizing his friend was still describing the place, he tuned back in. “...usually have at least three poles going at a time, and they always have at least one male and at least one female dancer. Help’s business I guess, especially since it’s such a large club.” And also part of the reason John figured Greg went. Everyone was well aware that the 35 year old enjoyed both sides of the stick where men and women were concerned.

John found himself excited at the idea of acting like teenagers with his old mate, going to a club and drinking. He shouldn't be, he was a respectable doctor, but something told him he'd enjoy the reprieve from monotony.  
“You know what, sure, I’ll go. It’ll be nice to have a chat and catch up with you after all this time. All I’ve been thinking about is work, and as much as I love my job, it’s nice to get away once in a while.”

They exchanged goodbyes and began to walk opposite directions, and eventually John found his way to his silver Accord and drove home with startling anticipation. Jesus, had it been this long since he'd had a bit of fun?

After getting to his expansive flat, the well-to-do former Army Captain made his way to the master suite and into his walk-in closet. Dressing in his red silk pyjamas and a black dressing gown, he walked out to his living room, plopped down on the leather couch, and opted to watch crap telly and drink tea for the next few hours.

After a while, he decided he needed a bath. John trotted off to the bathroom and started the water in his massive tub. He really wanted to relax tonight and he wanted to prepare best as possible to be able to shift into that club-esque element, so he turned on the jets. Stripping himself of the luscious silk and absentmindedly noticing he needed a shave in particular places, he slid into the warm water. Using a rosey soap scrub he lathered himself, washed and conditioned his hair, and allowed himself to relax under the jets that massaged his back for a while. One he was content and in a much looser mindset, he got out and shaved that bit of hair that’d accumulated.

Now the matter was what to wear tonight. John decided on a charcoal grey suit with a white undershirt, leaving the top few buttons of the bright garment undone, letting the world have a glimpse of the strong muscles underneath that perfectly tailored fabric. Looking rather dashing and feeling a tad hungry, he trotted off to the kitchen to grab a bit of food before he left and made a mental note to head to the bank before the club. The doctor smiled in the excitement that lay ahead. See some fit girls and some old friends.

Sounded like a wonderful night.


	2. Chapter 2

Stepping out of the cab and into the night air, John relaxed even more. He could already hear the thumping of the bass from inside the exquisite-looking building. The black double doors opened with a rush of air and Watson was floored. 

Everywhere there were people. Plush leather couches on the walls with tables in front of them were on raised carpeted floors. They were preceded by larger tables surrounding each of the five stages, a 15-foot gleaming silver pole jutting up in each one, three of which were currently being climbed by someone in very alluring clothing- or lack thereof. The very center of the club had a round bar with tall stools before the counter. The DJ’s booth rose above the inside of the bar and pounding music echoed everywhere.

John had just paid the door fee as someone grabbed his arm. Turning to see Lestrade, he smiled and followed him to a corner of the room where three people talking and laughing on couches and plush chairs sitting around the glass table adorned with everyones very different drinks. 

Greg pointed at each of his friends, introducing them one by one. “John, this is Sally, Molly, and Phil. Guys, this is my old friend from University I’ve told you about!” 

The first lady he'd motioned towards was a haughty-looking woman with flawless dark skin and naturally curly hair pulled up in a ponytail, and she was dressed to kill in a slinky black dress with stilettos to match. This was Sally who was propped up next to a more reserved woman with long brown hair, a bit more modest black dress and flats. Molly was her name, and she was tucked underneath the domineering black woman's arm, her shoulder gently being raked with perfectly pointed nails. John figured they must be in a relationship of sorts. Him and Lestrade sat opposite them.

The last one Greg pointed to was Phil Anderson, John actually remembered him from Uni as well. He also remembered he didn't really care for him. Phil was sitting apart from the ladies and apart from where John and Greg now sat on a lavish armchair to the side that matched the couches. 

A drink was pressed into John's hands by Molly. “Greg ordered this for you when he saw you walk in the doors. It’s a Bloody Mary, and he guaranteed you'd like it.” She said with a bit of disbelief, now seeing this man, she would not have guessed that to be his drink of choice.

Eagerly taking the drink from her and turning to his friend. “You remembered, Greg, from forever ago? Jesus, I haven’t had one of these in… a few hours actually.” He chortled, his soft blue eyes lighting up and the people around him chuckling a bit with him. Watson turned to Greg. “How've you been? Still a detective, huh? Frightfully boring, isn't it?”

“Oh shut it.” he bit, responding with a smile. “Pulls in good money and you damn well know it. It's fun to see some chaos once in a while too.”

Just then Molly began talking to Lestrade about something John didn't really pay attention to, and he took the moment to let his eyes sweep the room again. Looking closer this time, he rested in eyes on the dancers themselves.

The stage closest to their table held an incredibly busty redhead who was nearly upside down in her smooth contortion on the pole. She had on clear heels and a green thong. Her breasts were hardly being held by a corseted black band.

On the stage next to hers, a biracial girl with long smooth-pressed hair, who almost looked too young to be here, was wearing only a bejeweled thong that glittered every time it hit the lights. Her body was down, nearly on the ground, gyrating on the pole. Her small tits were rather boring and only drew your eyes up because of a necklace she wore that hung between them that matched her thong.

On the stage farthest from their corner was a tall woman with short, curly black hair and perfectly pale skin. She was faced away from him, and John could she was gyrating in much the same way the mixed girl was trying to, only the pale girl's movements were much more lurid and came off almost erotic. A red thong with a few tassels adorned with jewels hung off her small hips and framed that gorgeous arse. She wasn't wearing a top, but John couldn't see her breasts from his angle.

"Ya' like Sherly over there?" a voice sounded in his ear. Watson realized it was Greg and he realized he'd stared at her longer than he had the rest. "He's a real pleaser. Very good dancer, make you wanna go and wash your hands for a minute or two." Lestrade laughed at his crude innuendo and John figured that he must've started drinking. 

"You mean 'she'? Jesus, Greg, you must be a lightweight to be slipping up so easily so early in the night." He teased his friend.

Greg scoffed at the implication that he was such an easy drunk and leaped to defend himself. "No, arsehole. That there's a bloke. A damn fine bloke if you ask me."

Pursing his lips in disbelief, the doctor looked back at 'Sherly'. Sure enough, she- no he'd turned around and was now climbing up the pole. John could see now that there were no tits, and that his thong hung very heavy in the front. Also a bit baffled at how he hadn't noticed before, he saw that the sleek man had no shoes on. Feeling heat creep into his ears, he finished off his drink in a huff and ordered another.

Sally had seen his flustered blush and a grin broke her features. "I would've pegged you as a straight man, John Watson. I'm usually good at guessing what people are into." with mocked disappointment lacing her words, she ran her hand up to fiddle with her girlfriends soft locks.

"I am straight, thank you very much." Blushing a lot more now, he dismissed it as the alcohol in his system. He ignored the pointed looks from both Sally and Greg, and he allowed himself to order a stronger drink and forgot about the dancer.

After a few more hours of drinking and getting lap dances, Sally and Molly left first. Saying something about getting home to eat dinner, another badly thought up sexual innuendo. Anderson was at the bar, chatting up a older, trashy-looking blonde woman.

John and Greg now sat alone talking and laughing over stupid stories from the past. Slowly down his giggling, Lestrade became a bit serious. "I'm really glad i came back to London, I'd missed it."

"Its good to see you after all these years. Now that you're back permanently, we definitely need to take more outings like this, this has been fun. Great meeting Sally and Molly too."

"It is getting rather late though so I should be getting back home sometime soon." Lestrade looked forlornly at his watch, and John deftly agreed. His friend gave him a bit of a concerned look. 

"You gonna catch a cab, right? You'll be fine getting home?"

"Yes, yes, I'll be fine. I'm not even thank drunk anymore. Go on ahead, I have to make a stop to the loo before I leave." said John assuringly.

Lestrade smiled at him nostalgically, still thinking of those dumb Uni stories. "Okay then, you be safe." he grabbed his coat and walked off towards the club head.

Taking a moment to look back over the club, he grinned at having someone in his life to talk to and to hang out with again. He spoke with his secretary, Mary, a bit. Even tried to date her once or twice, but she was boring in everything she said. 

He sauntered off to the restroom for a wee, then stepped out into the late night air. Breathing in the smell of London, he felt alive. Just about to raise his hand to call a cab over, there was a rich, smooth voice that purred from behind him and made him stop in his tracks.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"


	3. Chapter 3

John knew the words were directed at him, but the knowing tone in the voice made him nervous and shiver in the cold night air. The doctor turned around to see a tall, stoic man leaning against the side of the club. Wearing a tailored grey coat that fitted him perfectly and almost seemed to flutter around him in the wind, and with a particularly long cigarette in his plush lips he spoke again.

"I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq'?"

"Uhm, Afghanistan, but how did- how did you know?" Something about this strange creature seemed familiar to John, but he couldn't place it. "Excuse me, who are you?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes." he took a long drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke out in John's direction. He shifted forward and stood now only a few feet away from the former army... Captain? Captain, probably. "I didn't know, I noticed. You have a tan line around your neck, but not above the wrists, so not sunbathing, you must've lived somewhere hot for an extensive period of time. The way you carry yourself, even when you've been drinking, suggests military. Since you still retain the tanlines shows that you lived there somewhat recently and since you must be military, that narrowed it down to two places. Afghanistan or Iraq."

Watsons mouth hung aghast. "That's amazing. Truly, I'm impressed." Sherlock seemed to hide a smirk at that. John watched his long, pale fingers carefully drop the cigarette butt on the ground and noticed those steely blue eyes watching Johns lips as he continued speaking. "What do you do for a living? Some sort of detective?"

A knowing smile now graced Sherlocks angular face. "I am a detective, a consulting detective actually, the only one in the world, but I also work here." he made a head gesture back towards the doors of the club. "But you knew that, Cherise informed me you had been staring at my arse for quite a long while."

Sherly? John startled as he realized this intimidating detective was the pale dancer in red earlier who he'd thought was a woman. For a split second, John thought of his round arse against the pole, but he quickly shoved that thought out of his mind reminding himself that this was indeed a man standing in front of him. Chasing away a blush with stammering words, John stopped to consider this revelation for a moment. "Wait, what the hell does a private detective need to dance for money for?"

Sherlock did indeed notice the shorter man's features becoming red at the realization that he'd seen him dance, Sherlock also figured he was blushing because of the exceptional view of his arse he enjoyed a few hours ago, he also noticed that he called him a private detective. A bit miffed he allowed himself to look over John again.

"You're also a doctor, private practice?"

"Now, how did you know- notice that?" the blonde looked at the taller man with slight disbelief and awe. His breathing had become a bit more laboured which he attributed to the nippy air in his lungs.

"The smell of antiseptic on you says medical, but if you worked as a surgeon you'd have all sorts of other smells on you, blood, for example. It's the type of antiseptic they use to clean the patients table before the next, so probably a general doctor. The quality of your clothes indicates that you make a bit more than a normal doctor but a again, because of the specific type of antiseptic, you'd still have to be a general doctor. So private practice, makes more money.'

"Absolutely amazing. Really, that's something else." John wasn't sure why he was so impressed by this mans deductions, he could've been some stalker who'd simply looked up information on him, but Watson never even thought of anything like that.

Sherlock seemed a bit pleased, a small grin threatening to break. "Hm. That's not what people usually say."

A bit hard to believe that, John thought noticing as his heartbeat sped up. It was the cold. And freaky deductions freaking him out. "What do people usually say?"

Smiling fully now, Sherlock let out a puff of cold breath. "Piss off."

John was now smiling back at him. "Unbelievable."

"I've always figured people felt inadequate when I come up into their workspace and do their jobs far better than they could ever hope to, that they get a bit miffed at my presence." Narrowing his eyes and studying John a moment, he was a bit put off by the older mans obvious interest. People weren't normally interested in him. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a small piece of paper. "Here's my business card, if you ever need.. assistance of any kind."

John took it with a bit of apprehension, and the heat still in his cheeks. The suave dark-haired man strode off elegantly holding the doctors gaze for a bit longer than was necessary.

After watching Sherlock until he disappeared around a corner, he hailed a cab, climbed in almost losing his footing, and spelled out his address to the cabbie.

He took out the white card with silver lettering on it and studied it a bit.

 

Sherlock Holmes  
Consulting Detective and Exotic Dancer  
020 2875 2430  
Baker Street Post P.O. box 299

 

Wait a moment... John's thoughts which were riddled with the haze of alcohol finally caught up with what just happened. Sherlock had hit on him, and topped it off by giving him his number. John blushed, shoving the piece of paper back in his pocket. He was straight of course, but he always got a bit flustered from anyone hitting on him. He was flattered really, being reminded that he was still handsome enough to be hit on.

When he got home, he shed his shoes and shirt and plopped into bed unceremoniously with his dressy pants still on. He was asleep within minutes.


End file.
